Mistaken Identity (Women's Fantasies)

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Mistaken Identity

A Zany Erotic Short
Story

By

Giselle Renarde

Copyright © 2013 Dee Dawning

“I swear to god, it was
this big
!” Charlotte held her hands about a foot apart.

Brenda smacked her friend across the table. “Keep your voice down. Next thing you know, you’re gonna have one of those frat guys sitting in your lap.”

All three of Brenda’s friends indiscreetly ogled the young men at the bar.

Karenne chuckled. “I hope they do more than just sit.”

“You guys are terrible, lusting after kids practically still in diapers,” Q’isha said—finally, a sentiment Brenda could agree with. Then she pointed subtly across the restaurant. “Now those two! I could sure go for a tall drink of that.”

“What, both of them?” Karenne asked. “The man and the woman?”

Q’isha shrugged. “Sure. Why not?”

Charlotte
’s eyebrows just about flew off her forehead. “I didn’t think you had it in you, Quiche.”

Brenda turned in her seat to get a better look at the pair. The man sure was a dish: dark skin, black hair peppered with greys, strong jaw, sophisticated in his starched white shirt. The woman was younger, Asian, slender, with long arms adorned in shimmering bracelets. Brenda’s admiration lingered along her wrists before cascading down the lengths of her dark hair. Her full red lips wore a stern, cold expression, but it looked good on her.

The girls razzed Q’isha for crushing on a couple, but Brenda tuned her friends out when the woman across the restaurant met her gaze. Her distant, sullen expression transformed into a glorious smile.

Brenda returned her smile tenfold. She couldn’t help herself. Something about her gorgeous, gleaming hair and the strong prettiness of her face made Brenda’s stomach burble.

Warm all over, she blotted her neck with her black linen napkin and tossed it on the table. “I’ll be right back.”

Without waiting to see if they’d heard her, she slipped out of her chair and marched toward the bathroom. The low lights made it difficult to see her reflection in the mirror, but maybe that was for the best. When she pictured herself, she saw a girl of nineteen, slim and fresh, gleaming skin and tight curls, flesh always wanting, always at the ready.

Who was that woman in the mirror? Brenda splashed water across her face, but the bags under her eyes didn’t melt away. The wrinkles didn’t tighten. She was still the same, albeit somewhat cooler.

The bathroom door opened behind her, and she straightened over the sink. Stiletto heels click-clacked against the slate floor, and Brenda felt each step like a puncture wound—in her skin, in her heart. She knew who was there, even before she turned around.

“You’re making this very easy,” the incredibly tall, gorgeous girl said. “I should thank you for that, I suppose.”

Brenda’s breath caught in her lungs. She didn’t know what to say, so she just nodded.

“You know who I am, then?” the woman asked.

Gazing down at her bejewelled purse and designer dress, Brenda searched her foggy mind. A celebrity of some sort? A model, most likely. “I’m sorry. I’m sure I recognize you, but I can’t quite put my finger on your name.”

The woman laughed, showing a gleaming white set of teeth. “Well, I wouldn’t expect you to know my name. How about you call me Green, huh?”

“Green?” Brenda asked, with a nervous chuckle. “Okay, sure.”

“So, you’ll join me without a struggle?” Green raised one of her expertly-plucked eyebrows. “My partner is pulling the car around as we speak.”

Brenda’s heart raced, because… wait, what was going on, here? She’d never been hit on by a woman. Or by a couple. This certainly was presumptuous. Even if Brenda
was
tempted, or at least curious, how could she leave without telling her friends?

“I don’t know about this,” Brenda stammered.

“Getting cold feet, are we?” Green slowly lifted the sparkling flap of her purse. “I would advise you to come quietly. No need to make a scene.”

When Green pulled handcuffs from her purse, Brenda’s stomach dropped and she felt like a caged animal. What the hell was going on here? Was this stranger trying to kidnap her for some crazy sex game? She gripped the counter, and stumbled back against the side of a stall.

“Come on, Mrs. Antonelli, let’s not play games.” Green took a step forward, and her gaze softened a touch. “There’s no need to worry. We’re not going to hurt you, Mitzi.”

“Mitzi? Antonelli?” Brenda burst with laughter. This was all a case of mistaken identity. “No, you’re way off. I’m Brenda—Brenda Jones.”

Green’s expression flickered, and then hardened as she grabbed her arm. “Nice try.”

“What are you doing?” Brenda shrieked.

Green swung her around and slapped cold metal rings around one wrist then the other.

Her mind couldn’t keep pace with her body. By the time she’d told herself to react, it was too late.

“I gave you the opportunity to come of your own accord.” Green’s nipples pressed into Brenda’s back. “If you choose to fight, better believe I’ll fight back.”

“Why are you going this?” Brenda tried to scream, but her words came out in a whisper. “I don’t want to come with you. Please, don’t make me. I’m just out for girls’ night. Please, let me go.”

As panic set in, Brenda saw herself from above. She floated across the ceiling as Green shoved her out of the bathroom and down the narrow hallway, past a payphone and a room marked Staff Only. Why were her feet moving so easily? If she just dropped her weight, Green would have to drag her, and she couldn’t believe the woman was really that strong.

But apparently she was strong enough to force Brenda through another door and into a dark, dirty alleyway. Brenda’s floating perspective followed along as Green forced her through the open door of a black town car. When Green tugged fastened her into the back seat, she rejoined her body.

“My arms!” Brenda cried, struggling against the strain in her shoulders and upper back. “Who are you? Why are you doing this to me?”

A dark window came down in front of her, and a gush of new car smell hit her in the face. The man from restaurant met her gaze in the mirror as the car squealed out of the alley. “Didn’t my partner introduce herself?”

They stopped—too fast—for a red light, and Brenda’s stomach lurched. For some reason, she didn’t want to get the pretty girl in trouble. “Green. She’s Green, she said. She did introduce herself, yes, but I don’t know who you are, or why you–Why? Why am I here?”

She gave in to the onslaught of tears and hung her head, letting them fall unhindered into her lap. She could have used a little tenderness, maybe an arm around her shoulders.

Green didn’t budge. “Come on, Mitzi. Get a grip. Enough with the waterworks.”

“Green!” the man said. “Maybe she doesn’t know.”

“Know what?” Brenda felt vindicated by his rough tone, but she had to figure a way out. “What’s going on? Why do you keep calling me Mitzi?”

“What would you like us to call you?” the driver asked.

“Brenda.” Why wouldn’t they listen? “My name is
Brenda
.”

Green shook her head. “She’s not co-operating, Red. This one’s gonna be a tough nut to crack.”

“We’re not cracking any nuts, here,” Red said. “Look what you’re doing to the woman, Green. Lay off for a while.”

“Lay off the wife of a key player in a major crime syndicate?” Green sneered.

“What?” Brenda had to laugh. “Who, Danny? You think he’s a mob boss? My husband won’t even cross against a light.”

Green growled. “See, Red? Stonewalling us. They’re all the same, these mob bitches.”

“Hey!” Brenda said.

“There’s no need for that sort of talk,” Red told his partner.

They had to be police officers, or special agents, or something. Green and Red must be code names. Why did it take her so damn long to figure that out? She was smart as a whip, when she was younger. Now? Eternal brain fog.

“Look, you’ve got the wrong person.” Brenda felt strangely calm now that she’d cried herself dry. “You’re looking for some Mitzi lady. Maybe I look like her, I don’t know, but my name is Brenda. Brenda Jones. Not Mitzi. My husband is not a mob boss. He’s just some boring old guy who watches TV and eats chips and barely gives me the time of day.”

Oops. She hadn’t meant to say that last bit.

The agents, or whatever they were, exchanged odd glances in the rear-view mirror. Green looked like she had a bright idea. Red looked like he knew what it was and didn’t want her to do it.

“Can I see your badges?” Brenda asked, like it was an afterthought—because, really, it was.

Red said, “That won’t be necessary.”

If Green had answered, Brenda would have kicked up a fuss. But she obeyed Red. His voice was so deep and commanding that it resonated in her pelvis.

As they sped across the city, Brenda marvelled at the ridiculousness of this situation. She felt like she was in a movie—a comedy about a middle-aged working wife getting abducted by FBI agents who inexplicably mistook her for someone else. It beggared belief, didn’t it?

Maybe
… no, couldn’t be. For a split second, she wondered if Danny had set this up. Back when they used to talk about their sexual fantasies, her list-topper had always been a kidnapping. She’d never considered being swept away by law enforcement officials, but she liked the angle. Kudos to Danny, if this was his doing.

No
. How silly did that sound? Her husband arranged to have her thrown into a town car and abducted by Red and Green? Although, it sounded silly as a life event, too. Sounded like a dream. Maybe she’d sneezed in the restaurant bathroom and hit her head on that dark marble countertop?

“Getting close,” Red said, closing the opaque divider.

“Getting close to what?” she asked Green. Their eyes met, the woman’s striking beauty gave her a funny, tingling feeling.

Green shoved something over her head—a bag, or a toque.

Brenda’s centre of gravity shifted with the car’s every turn. Her blindness seemed to exacerbate the motions.

The car came to a screeching halt, and Brenda shifted forward on the seat. Between her legs, a throbbing sensation took over. Arousal. She recognized it, from long-long ago.

A door opened. Humid summer air stuck to her skin.

Red said, “Quick. Let’s get her inside.”

“Where?” Brenda asked as he wrapped a powerful hand around her arm and pulled her from the car. “Where are we?”

Her feet met gravel. Rocks knocked against her hard soles, then the surface smoothed. A sidewalk? Driveway? Nope. The metallic digging sound of a key in a lock, then the squeal of a door opening. Dim light. Ugh, lemon cleanser masked the dense odors of mildew and piss.

“Where am I?” Brenda asked, feeling panicked now.

They didn’t answer.

“Cuff her to the chair,” Green said.

Her knees were bent and her arms poked through what felt like iron bars. Red unlocked the handcuffs and secured them again. It all happened too fast to process.

When the thing on her head came off, her eyes adjusted quickly to the dank motel room: a boxy television chained to a scuffed dresser that would have gone out of fashion in the 70s. The bed was probably that old too, and she cringed to think how many bodily fluids had soaked into the floral bedspread.

“I’ll call it in.” Red paced the room, pulling the curtains even though they were already closed. He swept his phone out of his pants pocket and dialled. “Safe on arrival.”

Green stood eerily still, with her arms crossed beneath her breasts. “I’ve got your number, Mitzi.”

“I’m not Mitzi.” At this point, she was even starting to question herself. Was she really Brenda Jones? Maybe Danny was a mob boss. Maybe she
was
Mitzi Antonelli, and she didn’t even know it.

No, that was dumb. Of course she wasn’t. She shook her head.

“Just tell us what Big Man’s up to,” Green said. “It’s that easy.”

Brenda cracked up—they definitely weren’t talking about her husband. “
Big Man
?” Mmm, she could really go for a Big Mac.

“Stop laughing,” Green said with a scowl.

Red left the musty motel room to finish his call.

Red raised her hand. “Are you asking for a slap, Mitzi? Is that gonna help jog your memory?”

The word “no” caught in Brenda’s throat. Hell, maybe she
did
want a slap. She wouldn’t know until she felt it.

“Fine.” Green smacked Brenda’s cheek.

Her face blazed and the heat bled around her head and down her neck. Brenda felt more awake, more alive than she’d been in decades. Present. Alert. In the moment.

“Let’s start with the basics.” Green cradled one hand in the other. “Tell me your name. Quit playing around.”

“Brenda.” She sat up straight in the hard metal chair. “Brenda Jones.”

Green’s dark eyes blazed and her full lips drew into a thin red line. When her palm swept up in the air, Brenda braced herself for another slap. Waiting for the burn, she shut her eyes shut. Her whole body went tight, her jaw, her back, even her pussy. She clamped right down.